


More Than He Could Take

by banafofool



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Slow Dancing, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Well - Freeform, and sex, based off tumblr post we've all probably seen, but mainly fluff, just fluff, rot your teeth fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2563034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banafofool/pseuds/banafofool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd lived in the house for almost a year now. And even after a year of living in their house, after a year of being together constantly, Derek still knew when it was all more than Stiles could take. And he was going to make it better.</p><p>Basically Derek is a fixing machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than He Could Take

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, that whole tumblr post about your OTP slow dancing? Been in my brain forever. also very very very unbeta'd please, forgive me

They'd lived in the house for almost a year now. And even after a year of living in their house, after a year of being together constantly, Derek still knew when it was all more than Stiles could take. And he was going to make it better.

It wasn't Derek that Stiles couldn't take, he knew that much. Mostly it was the combination of growing up but still fighting monsters, and on the worst nights, still waking up screaming and believing he was covered in his friends blood. It's not like Derek didn't have these issues- Hell, his issues were probably more disturbing- but something about seeing Stiles, his boyfriend, his _mate,_ being so distressed made everything worse.

So Derek did his best. On the nights when Stiles would come home from his boring nine to five job pouring out a mess of anger and frustration Derek did his best. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

Derek was dressed in old, thin pajamas going commando, when Stiles came in late, very late, stinking of misery and  _demon flashbacks,_ floods into Derek's mind. He begins to put together what happened just by looking at Stiles. His clothes were askew- he began taking off his tie when the panic attack started- his hair was pushed back and messy like he had been running his hands though it- probably alone, in the car, trying to calm himself down.  _  
_

Derek was across the room and holding Stiles in two steps. Stiles at first stiffened, disoriented, but then slumped, defeated in Derek's arms. He was still shaking slightly, and Derek began to run his hands up and down Stiles' back, attempting to sooth him. It wasn't until he felt hot bitter tears staining his shirt above his shoulder that he became really worried.

"Stiles?" Derek asked warily, pulling down and looking down at the man he loved. Stiles looked back up at him and he-he looked _broken_. Derek felt panic rising in his own chest, needing to make it better. 

Stiles must have sensed the rising distress and quickly began to explain, "it's okay, it's okay. I just had a bad panic attack and then I saw you and you- you're so good, and I was evil, Derek. I was horrible and that thing was horrible, and I just. I love you so much Der."

Derek let out a sigh of relief as he leaned forward and began to scent Stiles, feeling the panic clear. His mate was _okay._ But Derek was going to do what he could. "Why don't you go shower and I can make some spaghetti and meatballs or something?" Derek sounding hopeful even to his own ears, but Stiles looks at him and smiled, knowing that Derek needed this. 

"Yeah, I'll be quick." He left the room and Derek got started making dinner- Stiles' favorite. Then he put on music from the "get better" playlist they made once when they were a little love drunk. Derek was so focused on making the food that he didn't realize when Stiles came back into the room, sliding his arms around Derek's stomach. Derek's quick to turn them around, pushing Stiles against the counter softly, holding him to his chest. He looks into Stile's face, still seeing lingering sadness- a slight downturn of the lips, tightness at the eyes.

He reaches over for a second and changes the song to the one the listened to their first night moving in- More Than She Could Take by the Growl- and reaches back again and begins to pull Stiles into a soft sway in the middle of the kitchen.

Stiles huffs lightly, but Derek can see the sadness fading slightly as they begin to slow dance in their kitchen. Derek thinks for a second about what they must look like- the two of them, dancing in a kitchen at eleven at night, spaghetti guts surrounding them as they clumsily sway in ratty old pajamas. Perfect. The image in his brain is sweet slow along the edges, both of them weary but willing to dance slowly with the other. 

They sway just like that for some time; Stiles leaning his head on Derek's shoulder, his hands connected behind Derek's neck, Derek lightly kissing Stiles' cheek as his own hands connect on Stile' waist. They make it to the last song on their playlist, Prosthetic Love by Typhoon, and that's when Derek begins to talk as they sway.

"That day, the first time I saw you, in the woods? I knew. You were so young, but sharp and quick and so smart. And good. You are good Stiles. You make me better because you're better. I need you more than anything and it wasn't you- that evil thing inside of you wasn't you, Stiles. You are not evil. You're Stiles, clumsy and awkward, but you fill up the room when you walk in and when you leave I feel your absence. I love you so much because you're good and you're Stiles." He finishes his soft tangent when the song ends. They stop swaying, their moment suspended, still, in the kitchen, and Stiles looks up at Derek from his shoulder, still pretending to be too good for slow dancing in a ratty kitchen, but Derek can see. He sees the lines at Stiles' eyes softening, the frown slowly growing into a small, private smile. 

"I need you too, you know,"  Stiles admits quietly, and then even softer, almost so Derek can't hear, "you make me feel like things are okay." At the words, Derek feels like fist pumping the air in victory. 

He pulls Stiles into a soft, chaste kiss. But the honey-sweet kisses soon begin to devolve into a mess of tangled tongues and hot breathe mixing in the air between them. Derek hastily reaches down, pulling Stiles up and fully into his arms, gripping his ass tightly in his hands. Stiles lets go of a filthy moan, begins shoving his hips down in an already desperate grind. Derek doesn't want a quick fuck in the kitchen though; he wants to worship Stiles, spread out on their bed where they scents mix the strongest.

Derek begins walking backwards and through the double doors that lead to the bedroom, all the while Stiles continues kissing him then down his neck before nipping softly. That almost makes Derek trip, pleasure from the slight pain making his cock twitch in his old pajama bottoms. When he finally scrambles into the room, he throws Stiles gently onto the bed, following him easily.

Clothes are lost in a blur; Derek pulls off Stiles', Stiles pulls off Derek's. Their old, thin pajama pants are practically shredded in the effort in getting them off, until finally, finally they're both naked.  

Derek leans down, captures Stiles' lips once more, before leaving a path of wet drags of his tongue and light nips down the column of Stiles' throat. He kisses his way back up until he's tugging the lobe of Stiles' ear between his front teeth, pulling hard and then soothing it with a small kiss. 

"You're perfect Stiles, everything I need," he whispers, before making his way down the bed until he's hovering over Stiles' chest. There's a lovely pink flush spread across his chest, consuming both nipples, before lightly fading towards the trail of hair leading to his straining erection. He sucks hickies directly above each nipples, before sucking and biting them one at a time. Stiles' hips leave the bed, canting into the air, cock slapping against his stomach. Derek chuckles lightly at the frustrated whine Stiles lets out when Derek bends upward enough so they don't touch, making Stiles hump nothing but the air. 

He out right laughs when he faintly hears Stiles call him an asshole, but he sobers up when he decides to make something of the insult. He cheats a little, using his werewolf powers, and quick as lightning slides down the bed, pulling Stiles hips down and up into his face. No warning, Derek leans forward and pushes his tongue against Stiles' entrance. Letting out a cry of ecstasy, Stiles reaches down, holding himself open as Derek slows it down, slowly rotating his tongue around the ring of muscles. 

Stiles' hips rotate with Derek's tongue as he lets out pleas and keens; begging for more. Derek obliges, reaching up to sink a finger into the tight, wet heat of Stiles' hole. He quirks it up, knowing exactly where to go. Stiles screams, whining high in his throat, his hips beginning to quiver in the air, where they're locked, helpless and waiting for more. Derek pumps his finger in and out, adding another slowly. Rubbing circles against where he knows Stiles needs it, Derek runs his tongue from where it had been circling his fingers, and up onto his cock. 

"Der... Der please, I'm gonna-" Stiles whimpers as Derek pushes his fingers in harder and faster, taking Stiles' arousal all the way into his mouth, sucking mercilessly. Stiles sobs as he comes, Derek's name leaving his lips in a climactic mantra. His hips remain quivering in the air as Derek works him though it, swallowing him down, before he leans up and lines himself up at Stiles' hole. He's about to push in when a bottle of lube smacks him in the forehead. For a second he's stunned, completely and utterly caught off guard. 

He looks down and Stiles is looking up at him with a Cheshire smile, chuckling lowly under his breathe. Derek huffs as he slicks himself up, and adds more lube to Stiles' hole. Then he pushes in, making both of them groan in pleasure. Derek can feel Stiles' tight heat clinging to him, can feel Stiles' groans though the vibrations between them. He thrusts slowly, pulling out barely an inch at a time, before slowly pushing back in just as slowly. He may be going slow, but he's pushing in hard and hitting Stiles' sweet spot on every push in, and dragging across it on his way out.

Stiles looks up at him, awe and reverence on his face. HIs eyes are wider, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' as Derek pushes back in again. They're just looking into each other's eyes, and it registers in Derek's mind that they're not fucking, they're _making love_. It's almost too much, because despite what he conveys, Derek's always been a secret romantic. There's nothing more romantic than looking into Stiles' eyes, watching them widen and squeeze shut with every thrust.

Derek can see it when it becomes too much, feeling his own orgasm building, feeling like a freight train. He can see Stiles' eyes widen, can feel Stiles' hands pulling him in deeper, gripping his ass tightly. Can feel Stile's heels digging into his back side, pulling him in desperately for more.

Stiles' eyes fly wide open, his body clenching tightly around Derek's, crying out as he comes again for the second time that night. Feeling it, seeing it, pulls Derek down off the edge with him. He muffles his own cries into Stiles' neck, the name of his mate leaving his mouth over and over again. 

They lay like that for a few minutes, letting their breathing calm. Derek rolls over but feels his instincts telling him to stay inside as long as possible. He's about to shove the instincts away when Stiles gives him a knowing (fond) look, and pulls Derek into a cuddle, both of them facing each other, still connected. Laying like that for what must be hours, just staring at each other, taking everything in, Derek is hit with how much he really needs the young man in front of him. 

Eventually, they pull apart, coming back together after standing up, helping each other pull on some clothes over their come stained bodies. Derek pulls stiles into the kitchen after him, a mirror of what they did just hours before, and begins to put back together the dinner he had started making. Sure, the spaghetti is cold, and the meatballs are burned a little on the edges, but they both eat with sated, goofy smiles on their faces. 

Derek did his best, and for tonight it was enough.

 


End file.
